


Mrs. Spark Sends a Letter

by blancwene



Category: Miss Whittier Makes a List - Carla Kelly
Genre: Anglo-American War of 1812, Epistolary, F/M, Family, Friendship, Post-Canon, Pregnancy, quaker character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-23 02:25:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18540406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blancwene/pseuds/blancwene
Summary: InMiss Whittier Makes a List, the young Quaker Hannah Whittier sets off on a voyage from Nantucket to Charleston, only for her ship to sink and a British Royal Navy ship to rescue her. After a tumultuous but rewarding time at sea, the book ends with Hannah deciding to marry Captain Spark and settle down far from her home. This story picks up two years later, as Hannah attempts to discover her place and purpose in Dorset during the onset of the War of 1812.





	1. Mrs. Spark Sends a Letter

Hannah married him. And she waited.

As much as she loved her comfortable house by the sea, she could never seem to escape the inherent loneliness. Her home in Nantucket had been full of noise and bodies and life; it may have been simple, but it was never empty.

She took meals with the Paiges, invited neighbors to tea, and wrote letters to her husband and parents and brothers and friends from home. She filled her days with activities in hope that she'd stop noticing the nameless lack that haunted her.

Although perhaps “haunted” wasn't the right word for it. It implied a supernatural element that Hannah—with good Quaker sense—couldn't accept. But she did admit that when she stopped and sat, that sense of loss rose to the surface and pressed against her thoughts.

She'd always pitied the wives of the whaling crews, waiting months or years for a reunion that never lasted long. But how was she any different? Filling her days with busy work, listening for the carriage on the gravel drive and his footsteps on the stairs. Knowing it was a quick stopover on his way to Admiralty House and then back to the fleet.

She loved him—but she rarely saw him.

She missed the freedom of the deck, her trousers, her lookout perch. She even missed her hammock and her makeshift scents. On land, she had dresses and a real bed and actual perfume—but they weren't half as nice as her hand-me-downs at sea. She wondered if there was something wrong with the fact that she'd have traded the security of her life on land for the unpredictability of the sea in an instant.

She worked and wrote and tried to remain positive and pleasant. And she tried to forget the freedom and excitement of her time at sea.

 

* * *

 

> _Letter posted from Boston to New York (17¢, plus 8¢ for packet), departed on packet_ Lapwing _on June 18, arrived in Falmouth on July 6, then sent by mail coach to Swanwich; 11d due._
> 
> 12 Orange Street  
>  Nantucket, Massachusetts  
>  15th 4mo. 1812
> 
> My sweet Hannah,
> 
> I pray that this letter finds thee well, and thy captain as well. We are fine and in good health on Orange Street, but thy father is often with the others in Town Meeting, to discuss how we might avoid war. I fear that the War Hawks have the ear of Mr. Madison and view this solely as an opportunity to expand our borders past Mr. Jefferson’s purchase, with no thought to the financial consequences that we Federalists are perhaps harping on. But my dear, I remember what happened to Nantucket during our War of Independence. The whaling trade was decimated. Food and fuel were scare, and families lived with the definite fear of starvation. I hope to never live through the like again.
> 
> But I did not mean to burden thee with our American troubles! Instead I meant to write of thy concern in thy letter from the Twelfth Month. My dear daughter, thee has not been married for two years, and thou art lucky to see thy husband for a fortnight every six months. It is no wonder thy marriage has not yet been fruitful—thee must give it more time! I pray that this will not wear on thy mind, and that this year shall bring thee welcome news.
> 
> Remember: “Be careful for nothing; but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let thy requests be known unto God.” Proceed as the Way Opens, and mind the Light. Thou art always in my prayers.
> 
> Thy mother,  
>  Naomi Whittier
> 
> Postscript:  
>  Thy father has just reported to me that the Town Meeting means to send a letter to Congress urging diplomacy and avoidance, and we can only hope that they listen.

 

* * *

 

“I believe that your suspicions are correct,” the midwife said, smiling. “If you haven’t had your courses since May, I would put you at three months.”

“Thank thee—I had wondered! I have not felt this ill since I first went to sea, and that passed after a few days.”

“That is a good sign, Mrs. Spark. They say the greater the sickness, the healthier the babe.”

Hannah grimaced. “Well, it has put me off my breakfast of late. I am growing tired of unbuttered toast.”

Mrs. Diffey stood and helped her to the door. “Will you be sending for an accoucheur from London for your confinement?”

“Not at all. My mother had a midwife on Nantucket for all five of her children, and I would not wish anyone but thee to attend me. Besides,” she said, calculating in her head, “I have until February to make all my arrangements.”

She shook Mrs. Diffey’s hand and thanked her again, then turned somewhat aimlessly onto the street. So Mama was right! she thought. It was merely a matter of schedules. She laughed to herself. I always meant to make the corner room a nursery, and now there is nothing to prevent me from working on that. Perhaps this has been the cause of my unrest.

She paused in the street and shook her head. Thou art fooling thyself, Hannah Spark. I have been sad and mopey for far longer than three months, so this is merely a symptom, not the cause.

She considered her surroundings and decided to continue northeast towards the coastal path. She was passing the Antells’ house when she became aware of a small boy pelting down the drive towards her.

“Hello!” she cried. “William, is it not? I hope thou art well, and thy mother too.”

“Yes’m,” he panted, drawing to a stop. “My mother asked me to keep an eye out, if you passed this way. Have you seen the _Gazette_?”

“No,” Hannah said, frowning. “Did the _Clarion_ —”

“It is not Captain Spark,” he interrupted. “It’s—well—you’re a Yankee, ma’am, so Mother thought—” He stumbled to a halt and handed her the newspaper from August 1st.

Hannah quickly scanned down the page, reading the headlines. “Dispatches from Lord Wellington—Peace with Russia and Sweden—Declaration of War.”

William stared at her in mute entreaty.

“‘At length the American Government has preceded to a declaration of war against Great Britain, and that at a moment when it might have been expected that their knowledge of events would have disposed them to a more deliberate course,’” she read aloud. “But Lord Liverpool repealed the Orders in Council! In June!”

She sat down in the lane, to the dismay of William, and worked her way down the sheet. She reached the end and sighed. “June 18. Five days late, then.”

“Are you well, ma’am? May I help you up?”

“I’m fine, William.” She straightened the paper and climbed back to her feet.

“Will you come inside, Mrs. Spark?” he asked worriedly.

“Thank thee, but no. May I keep this? Tell thy mother I am immensely grateful that she thought of me, but I—I must walk for a bit. I fear I would make for poor company at present.”

William mumbled his farewells, and she waved him on his way.

“Oh dear,” she said, biting her lip. Hannah waited until William was out of sight, then sank back onto the ground.

“Oh dear,” she repeated. The tears began to well in her eyes. “Now I cannot send Mama my good news.”

 

* * *

 

> _Letter posted in Barbados (1 sh 2d packet rate), left May 10 on schooner_ Bramble, _arrived in Falmouth on July 4, then sent by coach to Swanwich; 11d due._
> 
> Bridgetown, Barbados  
>  5th 5mo. 1812
> 
> Friend Hannah,
> 
> (I suppose that technically thou art not a Friend anymore, since thee has gone out in marriage. Still, thou art my friend, and I will continue to address thee as such.)
> 
> This will be the last letter thee receives from Barbados! There is constantly talk of war, and my uncle does not wish me to be stuck in the Caribbean if the Royal Navy announces a blockade. So I am bound for a ship to Charleston, and afterwards it is the mail coach for me. As a veteran of that route, I will trust that all thy intelligence is accurate.
> 
> Starting this fall, thou must send thy letters instead to Cambridge. I finally begin at Harvard College. Oh well. “For all these things must come to pass,” after all.
> 
> In friendship,  
>  Adam Winslow

 

* * *

 

Hannah was seated at the desk in the bookroom, trying to write a letter to her husband. She had only gotten as far as the salutation and her opening sentence when she heard the crunch of carriage wheels out in the drive. She dropped her pen, jumped to her feet, and dashed out of the room and down the hall.

She had shot out the door and down the steps in time to see Daniel emerge from the carriage. She threw herself in his arms and kissed him fiercely.

“I was not expecting thee!”

“Measles,” he said obscurely.

He picked her up, and she locked her arms around his neck as he turned back towards the house.

“Captain Gregg of the _Flame_ invited all the _Clarion_ ’s officers to dine, and I brought one of the midshipmen with us. Lord knows who he got it from, but he passed the sickness to two other midshipmen, then three of the ship’s boys, and now two of the seamen as well, poor blighters. Can you close the door?”

She loosened an arm to reach back and pull it shut, and Daniel continued towards the parlor. “We were ordered off the blockade until we have no new cases.”

He lowered her onto the settee, then sank down next to her. “And I heard the news. I’m sorry, my love.”

Hannah shrugged helplessly. “I think we all knew it was coming. I had hoped—” She stopped, and tucked her head under his chin.

“They could reach peace terms—Parliament already ended their policy on trade with the Continent.”

“But there were three grievances behind Mr. Madison’s declaration of war, and I fear that America and England won’t find common ground on impressment.”

“I know. Is Adam—”

“He left Barbados in May. I had a letter from him. He is to start at Harvard College in the fall, though I fear he might run back to sea before he earns his degree!”

“He’s a better seaman than a scholar,” Daniel agreed.

Hannah scooted back to look him in the eye. “I was writing a letter to thee, when thy carriage arrived. The sheet must be sadly blotted, for I dropped the pen!”

“Good news, I hope,” he said smiling.

“Oh yes!” she confirmed. “I may finally turn my corner room into something more useful.”

He stared at her.

“But not until February, so I have time to braid a rag rug,” she said brightly.

She thought she heard him mutter something about plain speaking before he crushed her into the back of the settee, but she was too busy to respond.

 

* * *

 

> _Letter posted from London to Swanwich; 10d due._
> 
> 27 Half Moon Street  
>  London  
>  July 25, 1812
> 
> Darling Hannah,
> 
> I am off to Brighton, trailing as ever after the glittering crowd. I am determined to win back my five guineas from Lady Green, the cheat! Once again at 7 Arundel Terrace, though the second parlor was sadly dilapidated last I was there. I would replace the drapes, at least, but I fear my household budget is running too low. (Again, damn Lady Green!)
> 
> I purchased the sweetest little bonnet, but it does not become me, so I will bring it for you the next time I am in Dorset. I am sure you could make something of it, once you strip off the glass cherries and silk flowers and all the lace. Now that I look at it, why ever did I buy it? It was £1 1s, after all! But once you pull it to pieces you can no doubt fashion it into something very smart indeed.
> 
> Yrs. truly,  
>  Lavinia, Lady Spark

 

* * *

 

Late one evening, Hannah tiptoed out of bed to climb into the chair by the window—finally reupholstered last year, and now immensely more presentable—and settled in for a quiet cry. She jolted upright a few minutes later when a hand fell on her shoulder.

“Hey now, Lady Amber, what’s this?” came Daniel’s voice in the darkness.

“I wanted to write to my mama,” she sobbed, shifting over for him to squeeze next to her. “And I’ve been so restless. I thought it was the baby, but—this is so undemocratic—but I miss the routine at sea, how I always knew what I would do each day.”

He tucked her into his side and stroked her hair. “It's perfectly normal to miss something that was a part of your life for so long.”

“I even miss my hammock,” she sniffed.

“Oh dear,” he said.

She glared at him. “I don’t like orders, but on ship I knew what my role was. I don’t know where I fit in Dorset, other than being a strange Yankee.”

“You’ll have to climb the rigging.”

“Thou art cryptic,” she complained.

“I meant—you’ll never know where you’re needed, how you can fit in, unless you try something.”

“Then I should allow a Way to Open,” Hannah said. 

“A little active searching might not hurt either,” he added. “Should I send for my mother?”

“No!” she burst out. Then speaking with slightly more care, “She is in Brighton, and I would not draw her away from her holiday.”

“She’ll eventually gamble away her pin money and decide to rusticate here until her funds are replenished,” he predicted. “And I’ll find out how to send a letter to Nantucket. There was mail traveling back and forth during your war of independence, after all.”

“Thank thee,” she said, breaking into tears again.

“Come back to bed,” Daniel said, pulling her to her feet. “You need eight hours of sleep, then you can start on your battle plans.”

“It is only a letter,” she grumbled, but she climbed into bed and immediately fell asleep.

 

* * *

 

> _Letter posted from Portsmouth to Swanwich; 8d due._
> 
> The Dolphin, Portsmouth  
>  August 28, 1812
> 
> Beloved,
> 
> The last of the invalids has ceased to be a rash-ridden mess, so it is back to the Brest blockade for us. I wanted to send this letter before we left, though, so you could start to formulate your plan of attack on the poor Post Office.
> 
> The Falmouth Packets should still be sailing—we will not have officially entered into a conflict with America until Parliament passes an order of authorization. The Navy will blockade the eastern coastline, most likely in stages. Once the blockade begins and the American ports are closed, the packet ships will sail to Halifax only, and bypass their usual stops in Bermuda and New York. You could send a letter to Halifax and then on to an inland mail route, but I suspect the Canadians will stop that service as well.
> 
> You have three options then: a blockade runner (not recommended, threat of capture or destruction too great); a licensed merchant ship, since they can travel back and forth without interference; or a cartel ship, since they carry official correspondence under a flag of truce. Either of the last two options would carry your letter safely, if not particularly speedily. I am not sure of the rate, but it is probably similar to postage to the Caribbean. 
> 
> You must also be prepared for your letter to be read and censored, at least once, before it is sent to its final destination. I wish you luck, and that this time you will not have to resort to setting the Postmaster’s drapes on fire as you once did at Admiralty House!
> 
> Yours, always,  
>  D. Spark

 

* * *

 

Lady Spark arrived in Dorset in mid-September, exactly as Daniel had predicted. Hannah embraced her in the drive, and once they were seated in the parlor asked about Brighton.

“It was very lively—so many parties and outings! You should come with me next year.”

Hannah demurred politely, and Lady Spark continued. “But that Lady Green! She must be a cheat, for after taking my five guineas at piquet in London, she nearly wiped me out in Brighton as well!”

“If she was truly cheating, could thee not have said something?” asked Hannah.

“Oh my dear, that is not the thing. I must live off your kindness until my next quarterly allowance. I do apologize!”

Hannah demurred again, and Lady Spark once again pressed on. “But I must congratulate you, my dear! I had begun to think I might never see any grandchildren.”

“Thou art kind, ma’am. I wish I could send word to my mama, as well.”

“Can you not post a letter?”

“There seems to be some confusion as to how long the packet ships will continue to stop in New York,” Hannah explained. “Daniel sent me a letter with other options, but it has left me at an impasse. I think I could send a letter on a cartel ship, but I am not sure how to arrange that. We have no post office in Swanwich, for Mr. Rawles the innkeeper holds the post until we can collect it. I believe that most of the cartels leave from Plymouth.”

“Then we will go to Plymouth,” said Lady Spark. “I am sure the Postmaster can enlighten us on the best approach. I will tell Paige to prepare the family carriage for Monday.”

“But thee just arrived,” Hannah protested. “I would not—”

“I can’t stop you from worrying about this silly war. But if I can help you send an important letter to your mother, it’s the least I can do.”

They left for Plymouth the following week, and after two nights on the road—“subpar accommodations,” sniffed Lady Spark—they deposited their trunks at the George, then continued on to the Postmaster’s Office on New Street.

Lady Spark continuously talked over the poor clerk, until finally the Postmaster himself was summoned. He listened to Hannah’s dilemma, then nodded.

“I believe that the next packet ship does not leave Falmouth until the end of November, but there is a cartel ship sailing in a few days. The Hope.”

“An auspicious name,” Hannah said. “What must I do to send it?”

She dug through her reticle for the fee—half the 2sh 2d packet rate—and produced the letter.

“Thou art leaving my hands,” she whispered. “I pray that thee makes it safely to Nantucket, no matter how long it takes.

 

* * *

 

> _Letter carried by cartel_ Hope _on September 25, 1812 from Plymouth to Boston (1 sh 1d paid ship letter rate); censored by the Massachusetts Marshal’s Office and posted in Boston on December 7—12½ ¢ due to Nantucket (plus 1¢ ship fee)._
> 
> Shoreview House  
>  Swanwich, Dorset  
>  September 20, 1812
> 
> Dearest Mama,
> 
> How prescient was thy letter from April? I am so pleased to write to thee of an upcoming addition to my little family! Mrs. Diffey the midwife reckons that our baby will be due sometime in February, so I have five months to wait. I wanted to make a rag rug for the babe’s room, but only time will tell if I finish it in time.
> 
> I pray that all of thee are in good health and shall continue so for the time being. My thoughts are with thee all, and I wish that Mr. Madison’s war may end swiftly with no harm done to any of thee.
> 
> I am waiting for an Opening, that I may find my place here in Dorset.
> 
> With all my love,  
>  Hannah
> 
> Postscript: How is Adam? Has he started at Harvard? Will he still be at Harvard come spring??

 

* * *

 

“Mr. Paige,” Hannah said as he brought the post into the parlor, “would thee mind teaching me how to drive the gig?”

“Hannah!” cried Lady Spark, looking up from last week’s _Gazette_. “Ladies do not drive, unless they wish to be labeled fast. And in your condition—”

“I don’t mind driving you, ma’am,” said Mr. Paige.

“I am immensely grateful to thee for doing so. But sometimes thou art busy with other tasks, and I hate to take thee away from thy work. Besides,” said Hannah, turning to her mother-in-law, “Swanwich is so small, who would remark on it? And I am sure that I have seen the Miss Brickells driving their brother’s curricle.”

“The vicar’s wife takes a cart around the village by herself,” added Mr. Paige.

“Well—the vicar’s wife—!” sputtered Lady Spark helplessly.

“I’ll be happy to teach you, Mrs. Spark,” said Mr. Paige.

“I thank thee. May we start tomorrow?”

He nodded and left the room. Hannah turned back to Lady Spark. “I am tired of waiting for things to happen to me. I mean to look for a Way to Open, but Daniel was right: there is nothing wrong with taking a little initiative as well.”

“Is that a Quaker thing?” Lady Spark asked dubiously.

“It's like—expectant waiting—allowing thyself to stay in a place of uncertainty, until thee knows how and what to do. But I have always wanted to drive, and so I shall!”

“You are a scamp,” Lady Spark laughed.

“So I’ve been told, and I’m too old to change!”

 

* * *

 

> _Letter sent from Swanwich to Portsmouth, then carried by_ HMS Themis _to_ HMS Clarion _on the Brest blockade._
> 
> Shoreview House  
>  Swanwich, Dorset  
>  November 11, 1812
> 
> Dearest Daniel,
> 
> Thy mother has returned to London, though she promises that she will return in February so she may meet her first grandchild. I fear this makes me an undutiful daughter-in-law, for although I love her dearly, I am always relieved when she leaves!
> 
> Mr. Paige has been teaching me to drive the gig, and he reports that I am become a prodigious good whip. The next time thou art home, I will take thee for a drive—and thou must promise to shower me with compliments on my great skill, and ignore the fact that I have not yet been promoted to thy fine pair of mares, and instead must settle for two of the farm horses.
> 
> I know it most likely that my letter has not reached Boston yet, but I fear that I often dwell on it.
> 
> I pray thou art in excellent health, and that the dreadful storm of three nights past did not wreak too much havoc on thy ship.
> 
> With all my love,  
>  Hannah

 

* * *

 

Hannah waited patiently for her Opening. But no matter how many times she locked herself in the bookroom or the parlor, there were always distractions: accounts to reconcile, shopping lists to write, a never-ending pile of baby clothes to sew.

“Perhaps that is my problem,” Hannah griped to Mrs. Paige as they sorted the linen cupboard. “Any room in this house reminds me of all I need to do.”

“What would you have done in Nantucket?”

“Sit in the Meeting House,” she said promptly.

“There you are, ma’am. St. Mary’s is nice and quiet, once service is finished on Sundays.”

“Mrs. Paige, thou art a godsend,” Hannah cried, embracing her flustered housekeeper. “I will sit in the pews and wait some more.”

And so after the service on Sunday, she shook Mr. Trevett’s hand, thanked him for the sermon, then stealthily made her way around the side and snuck in the south door.

She slipped into a pew halfway back from the chancel and closed her eyes. She could faintly hear the buzz of conversation beyond the west doors, but otherwise the church was quiet and still.

Unlike me! she thought. When was the last time I sat for more than fifteen minutes, without jumping back up to tackle another task? Thee cannot say that thou art often idle.

But I am lonely. I know everyone’s name, and I have tried to be gracious and friendly. But I do not have any dear friends like I did in Nantucket. I do not know if I could meet anyone like Charity Wilkins or Abigail Winslow. Well, perhaps not like Charity, for I’m not sure anyone married to a bore like Counsel Winnings could ever be considered a kindred spirit.

Is that all part of finding my place in Swanwich, she thought. Making friends as well?

A door behind the pulpit opened, and Hannah looked up to see the vicar’s wife enter with a basket.

“I hope I did not disturb you,” said Mrs. Trevett. “I came to sort through the flowers.”

“No, indeed! I needed a quiet place to think,” Hannah said, rising to her feet. “May I help thee?”

“I would welcome it. I’m removing any blooms that are fading.”

Hannah joined her at the altar and set to work pulling out the wilted flowers. “What lovely colors—so red. Do they have any special meaning?”

“Only to me,” said Mrs. Trevett. “I love red flowers, and I am fortunate that so many of the autumn blooms fit my scheme.”

“Are they from thy garden?”

“Not at all—I grow mostly vegetables and herbs at the parsonage, so Mrs. Thorner has been kind enough to let me take flowers from her greenhouse for the service. That is where I found these anemones and chrysanthemums.”

“I like the flowers. Our Meeting House at home was plain, with wooden benches and white walls. Shall I put these in thy basket?”

“No, it’s for the altar cloths. Mr. Trevett usually removes them, but I want to make sure they get a good cleaning. We will switch to blue next week, for Advent.” Mrs. Trevett took Hannah’s gathered flowers in her hand and turned toward the door. “If you are done thinking, would you like to come to the parsonage with me?”

“Thank thee! Yes, I will come with thee—I fear I did not come to any special revelations while I sat, alas.”

She held the door for Mrs. Trevett, and they continued on the path through the churchyard towards the parsonage.

“What kind of revelation were you hoping for?”

Hannah grimaced. “Nothing extraordinary, I assure thee. It’s more that sometimes, I feel out of place in Swanwich.”

“Your home must be quite different from Dorset,” Mrs. Trevett said gently.

“It is. Most are Friends, so I did not feel so—strange.”

“I hope that no one here has treated you unkindly.”

“Never! Everyone is so kind and neighborly! It is more that—I am not sure how to make myself of use here.”

“I suspect you will be busy soon enough,” said Mrs. Trevett.

“I am certain of it,” agreed Hannah. “But running Shoreview House, and taking care of an infant, are an isolating kind of busyness. I wish—”

She held the kitchen door open for the vicar’s wife and followed her inside.

“Take a seat,” Mrs. Trevett said briskly. “I’m putting the kettle on to boil, but I’m listening.”

“On Nantucket, my family ran a mercantile, so all my life I was either at school, shadowing my mother at home, or helping my father in the store. Well, it was probably closer to bothering than not, but I felt needed. I know I don’t have to work, but there’s a part of me that wants to, somehow. The democratic Yankee part of me, no doubt!”

Mrs. Trevett filled the pot, then began to assemble her tea things on a tray. “You know, I am not native to Swanwich either.”

“Truly?” said Hannah.

“I grew up in Cambridge, which is where I met Mr. Trevett,” she continued, carrying the tray to the table and seating herself. “Fifteen years ago, I was a stranger myself. But I suppose I was fortunate that I knew most of the expectations for the role I was undertaking.”

“I don’t mind running a household,” Hannah said. “I always expected I would someday. But Mrs. Paige is frightfully efficient, and there are only so many times a week I can pore over the account books before I start to run mad.”

“Did you have brothers, Mrs. Spark?” Mrs. Trevett asked, handing her a cup of tea.

“Yes,” Hannah confirmed, startled at the non sequitur.

“I suspect you were a regular tomboy at home,” Mrs. Trevett said with a smile.

“I was an outright rascal,” Hannah laughed.

Mrs. Trevett regarded her thoughtfully. “Do you know Miss Kerley?”

“Only in passing. She teaches at the village school.”

“She has my three boys, and William Antell, and all the little Brickells, and I fear that they run her ragged. She told me last week that she wishes she had more help, especially when she takes them on outings.”

Hannah stared at her.

“It would only be a day or two a week, but they’re a rambunctious lot and I’m afraid a few hours will tire you out.”

“It sounds perfect, ma’am. I would love to help!”

“Wonderful, Mrs. Spark. Then I’ll bring you there after school on Monday to meet with Miss Kerley.”

“I thank thee!” Hannah said, her eyes shining. “And wilt thou please call me Hannah?”

“Hannah—what a lovely name. And I’m Joanna.”

 

* * *

 

> _Letter posted from Swanwich to Frindsbury, Kent on December 18; 10d due._
> 
> Shoreview House  
>  Swanwich, Dorset  
>  December 16, 1812
> 
> Dearest Mama-in-law,
> 
> I thank thee immensely for the beautiful cradle thee sent. How ever did thee get it on the mail coach?? Mrs. Paige found me a Moses basket so I may take the baby in the gig with me, and Joanna—Mrs. Trevett—said I may use her crib once I have need for one. As soon as I finish my rag rug (thou wilt never know how many rags and how many hours have gone into the creation of my poor rug) I believe I may pronounce the nursery complete.
> 
> I have been helping Miss Kerley at the village school two afternoons a week, and though I had been warned that the pupils could be troublesome, I found them much better behaved than the we Whittiers had ever been. One of the boys asked me where I came from, and why I spoke so strangely—whether he referred to my accent or my plain speech or both was unclear! I showed them America on a map, and they were greatly impressed to learn that I had lived on such a small island.
> 
> I took them on an outing where we looked at fossils in the cliffside, and another where we collected shells and tried to identify their origin. They ask so many questions, and I do not always know the answer, so Miss Kerley has promised to find me some reference texts. She is rather shy, but I have finally gotten her to agree to call me Hannah. (Her name is Cynthia, which I think is very pretty.)
> 
> I hope that thou shalt have an excellent and festive time at thy house party with thy friends!
> 
> With all my love,  
>  Hannah

 

* * *

 

Hannah continued to help at the village school into the new year, though once February arrived she was forced to bow to the collective wisdom of Lady Spark and Mrs. Paige and allow herself to be transported to and fro in the gig.

“You can’t walk that far,” Lady Spark stressed. “What would you do if you went into labor?”

“The ditch at the end of the lane looks like a quiet spot,” Hannah joked.

But the two women were adamant, and so Hannah sat outside the schoolhouse with Cynthia Kerley, awaiting her ride home.

“What shall we do next week?” Hannah asked.

Cynthia regarded her bulk doubtfully. “Are you certain you’ll be here?”

“Of course. Mrs. Diffey told me that firstborns are often late, and it’s not yet the middle of February.”

“There’s Mr. Paige,” Cynthia said, hauling Hannah to her feet and walking her to the gig.

“Wilt thou be at the Thorners’ dinner on Thursday?” Hannah called down to her once she was settled under her lap blanket.

“I will,” Cynthia confirmed, watching her worriedly. “And you must take care of yourself!”

By Thursday, though, Hannah was feeling odd. I know about my waters, and the pains, she thought. But I have had these pains for weeks now. How will I know when it’s time?

She knew from experience that Lady Spark would not be a helpful source of information—for a woman who had brought three children into the world, she was remarkably reticent to discuss any aspect of it—so Hannah tried to ignore her discomfort and go about her day as usual.

Mrs. Paige started monitoring her every move, and even Lady Spark noticed.

“Are you ill?” she demanded, bustling in as Hannah was dressing for dinner. “Do you wish to stay home? I can make your apologies to the Thorners.”

“No, I’m merely tired,” Hannah said, running a brush through her curls. “No doubt because I resemble a frigate! Thank goodness for drawstrings, or I doubt I’d be able to fit into any of my clothes.”

She suffered silently through the jolting carriage ride, and she tried to focus all her attention on discussing the reelection of Mr. Madison and the Danish state bankruptcy with her table partners. But when the ladies stood to retire to the drawing room, she hurried over to Mrs. Thorner.

“Thy withdrawing room—where might I—”

“Down the hall. Brown will show you the way,” Mrs. Thorner said, beckoning to a maid.

Hannah barely made it inside, and a minute later was regarding the closet floor with some horror. “Oh no oh no,” she moaned. “So that is my waters!”

She picked up a towel and debated whether to try drying off, but since she was still dripping she gave it up as a lost cause. She staggered to the entrance of the drawing room, and Joanna Trevett hurried to her in alarm.

“My waters have broken,” Hannah laughed awkwardly. “Could thee ask Mrs. Thorner to have our carriage brought round?”

“I’ll ride back to Shoreview House with you,” Joanna said, gesturing madly to the others and hustling her back into the hall. She seated Hannah in a chair by the door and pushed her back down when she tried to stand. “I can help until Mrs. Diffey arrives. No, stay there—I’ll get you some towels.”

In the ensuing confusion, Hannah could barely follow the progress of people moving in and out of the hallway—although she distinctly remembered Lady Spark ordering one of the Thorners’ footmen to fetch the midwife to Shoreview House “immediately—faster than immediately—retroactively at this point!” Someone kept replacing her drenched towels with dry ones, and in ten minutes time she found herself being carried to the carriage by another footman. Lady Spark and Joanna joined her inside, while Cynthia Kerley passed up Hannah’s reticle and another handful of towels.

“Tell Mrs. Thorner that I am sorry her towels—” she began, but Cynthia cut her off.

“I do not think you will make it to school next week,” she said, taking Hannah’s hand. “But I will visit you at Shoreview House as soon as I may be permitted.”

 

* * *

 

> _Letter sent from Swanwich to Portsmouth on February 15, 1813, then carried by_ HMS Prevost _to_ HMS Clarion _on the Brest blockade._
> 
> Shoreview House  
>  Swanwich, Dorset  
>  February 13, 1813
> 
> Dearest Daniel,
> 
> We have a daughter! She was born on February 12th in the wee hours of the morning—apparently I had already been in labor before we arrived at the Thorners’ dinner party. (I have never had a baby before, so I did not know!) She has blue eyes, and little tufts of dark hair. Mrs. Diffey says that she is a healthy size, though she seems the tiniest little thing. Her name is Rebecca.
> 
> I pray that thou wilt be able to come off the blockade and meet thy daughter very soon!
> 
> With all my love,  
>  Hannah

 

* * *

 

Hannah woke, and reached a hand instinctively towards the cradle next to her bed.

“I have her,” Daniel said.

“Thou shouldst have woken me,” Hannah protested, struggling upright.

“I tried,” Daniel said, getting up from the chair by the window and carrying Rebecca back to the bed. He sat down on the edge. “But you were practically comatose. Besides, she didn’t seem hungry or anything, just fussy. She’s calm now.”

“Mrs. Diffey said it is colic,” Hannah explained. “She just cries and cries, and there never seems to be a reason why.”

“It must be hard, when you don’t have any words or even understand what’s wrong.” He handed the baby back to her, and she tucked her into the cradle. Rebecca’s eyes moved back and forth, following them.

“She’s much more aware now—she’s always looking around the room,” Hannah said, smoothing and straightening the baby’s blankets. “Although I’m sad her hair fell out before thee arrived. She had the sweetest little dark puffs.”

“I’m sorry I have to leave you both so soon,” Daniel said, reaching out a hand to rock the cradle gently. “Next time I see her, she’ll probably have a full head of hair. I don’t like to leave you alone.”

“Joanna Trevett is here almost every day, and she takes Rebecca for a bit so I can try to sleep. And Cynthia Kerley is often here, to read to me.”

“I noticed you didn’t mention my mother.”

“Thy mother tries to be helpful, but she cannot deal with crying—and I’m afraid that there has been an awful lot of that lately. I wish—”

She stopped, and Daniel took her hand. “I wish your mother was here as well. Have you a letter from her?”

“No,” Hannah sighed.

“Send another one—you don’t always have to wait for a reply.”

“I know. But Plymouth—with the baby—”

“Just have Mr. Rawles send it on, and let the post office figure out the rest. Or write it before I leave, and I’ll post it in Portsmouth for you.”

“I’ll think on it,” she said. But then the baby woke, and the moment passed.

 

* * *

 

> _Letter never posted._
> 
> Shoreview House  
>  Swanwich, Dorset  
>  March 15, 1813
> 
> Dearest Mama,
> 
> Didst thou ever receive my letter? It has been nearly six months since I sent it and still no word. I thought a cartel ship would be safe. Perhaps the Hope was pursued by a privateer before they could reach Boston Harbor, and they were forced to throw their mail bags overboard. Perhaps my letter to thee is currently floating abandoned in the Atlantic. ~~Perhaps I shall never hear—~~
> 
> I have had my baby, of course! Her name is Rebecca. She is four weeks old now, and has started to realize that she has hands and feet. Sometimes she even laughs, which is such a lovely sound after all the crying I’ve endured.
> 
> I have also had my Opening. I cannot wait until I feel well enough to return to the school. And I have made friends, Mama! Daniel has returned to the blockade, and I miss him exceedingly. But how good it is that I have friends here I can talk with and visit. I don’t mind writing letters, but it is nice to not always be waiting months for a reply.
> 
> Am I a coward if I do not send this to thee? Daniel told me to send another letter, but I find I can’t—I can’t keep sending letters into a void, without even the promise of an answer. Why didn’t Mr. Madison halt hostilities in the fall? What happened to diplomacy? Why do countries rush to violence instead of addressing their conflicts peaceably?
> 
> I wish thou wert here right now. I miss thee. ~~I think—~~
> 
> ~~I fear that—~~

 

* * *

 

“I’m going to the village school,” Hannah said, walking into the kitchen with Rebecca in her arms. 

“Mr. Paige is out,” the housekeeper said, putting down her paring knife and climbing to her feet.

“That’s fine, I can take the gig myself. Can thee hand me Rebecca’s basket?”

“You’re taking the baby outside in the gig,” Mrs. Paige said incredulously.

“She’s all bundled up, and will hopefully sleep the whole drive.”

“What would Captain Spark say?”

“Probably: ‘Look out for the ditch at the end of the lane, and don’t let the baby fall out.’” Hannah passed her the squirming infant. “Can thee hold her for a moment? Where is that basket—there it is! Dear Mrs. Paige, it’s so pleasant out that I’d hate to spend the day indoors. I’ll help Miss Kerley with the geography lesson and be back in plenty of time for supper. Don’t fret!”

“Very well,” Mrs. Paige said, but then the door to the yard opened and Mr. Paige stepped in.

“Begging your pardon, Mrs. Spark, but I collected the post and thought you’d want this straight away.”

He handed her a letter with a stamp from the Transport Office, addressed to herself in her mother’s hand. Hannah took it from him and turned it over, front to back, back to front. Now that it was finally here, in her hands, she felt reluctant to open it. What if she held bad news? What if her mother had never gotten her letter from September? A thousand possibilities ran through her mind, and she hesitated.

“Are you going to read it?” Mrs. Paige prompted her at last.

Hannah shakingly broke the seal and dropped down into a chair. She opened the letter. She read through it in a hurry, then again slower, and then once more taking it line by line.

“She received my letter in December! She is well; they are all well!”

She jumped to her feet and hurried from the room.

“The school—” Mrs. Paige protested.

Hannah popped her head back in the kitchen. “Couldst thou please watch Rebecca for a time? I must answer my mama—I have so much to tell her!”

 

* * *

 

> _Letter posted December 29, 1812 from Boston to Newport, Rhode Island (10¢ plus 3¢ ship fee); cartel ship_ Rose _left Rhode Island on January 11, 1813, arrived in Plymouth March 30, 1813; examined by the Admiralty’s Transport Office, then sent from Plymouth to Swanwich; 10d due._
> 
> 12 Orange Street  
>  Nantucket, Massachusetts  
>  15th 12mo. 1812
> 
> My sweet Hannah,
> 
> How very glad I was to receive thy letter from the Ninth Month! My dear daughter, how delighted I was to read of thy good news, and thou hast been in my prayers daily. How I wish I could see thee and thy little babe, and so I pray that thee both are healthy and well. No doubt when thou finally receives this, the babe will have already arrived! Thy father is also most anxious to know whether thou hast a daughter or son.
> 
> We are all fine here on Orange Street, though one of our Nantucket whalers has been captured and destroyed—Captain Cottle’s _Mount Hope_ , though thank God all the men are safe. Thy brother Matthew has postponed his next voyage, for which his family is greatly appreciative.
> 
> Adam is still at Harvard, though Mrs. Winslow reports that his letters tell little about scholarly endeavors, and much about ice skating and his laundry.
> 
> I shall continue to send thee letters, and I pray that I shall be able to see thee again soon.
> 
> Thy mother,  
>  Naomi Whittier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to S. for all her thoughtful edits!


	2. Author's Note

NAMES

After rereading _Miss Whittier Makes a List_ , I had a dilemma on my hands: would Hannah be “Mrs. Spark” or “Lady Spark”? On the one hand, Captain Spark is intermittently addressed as “Sir Daniel,” but on the other, it’s not used consistently. Additionally, we’re never given a story/retelling of what he did to possibly be knighted, which made me lean towards ignoring his title.

His mother is introduced as “Lady Spark,” which would make sense if his father (and now brother) was a baronet. However, we’re given conflicting information in two different chapters:

Chapter 11: “On land, he’s just the younger brother to a baronet who’s pretty well managed to ruin the family.”

Chapter 15: “And you have not even met my brother yet. I do not know a more worthless slug on the face of the earth than Edmund Spark, the current earl.”

I ultimately decided that Lady Spark was the widow of a baronet, and to refer to Hannah as “Mrs. Spark,” solely so that she wouldn’t be confused with her mother-in-law. (Plus, it would be rather strange to have two different sirs in the same family…)

All the Swanwich locals have surnames taken from [the 1881 census](https://britishsurnames.co.uk/1881census/dorset), which is 70 years too late but hopefully still accurate. And since Carla Kelly never provided the first names of Mrs. Whittier or Lady Spark, I took the liberty of giving them ones myself.

 

SHIPS

The _Dissuade_ is described as a “cutter” in the book, but I think it would more accurately be described as a sixth-rate ship since it had a post-captain, two lieutenants, and three midshipmen. Cutters were usually commanded by lieutenants, and would not have that many officers on-board. I assume that Spark's current command, the _Clarion_ , is also a sixth-rate and has a similar crew complement. (In the book, it’s described as a Falmouth-class, which....was a class of ship from World War II?? Carla no.)

 

DISTANCES

In the book, Captain Spark, Lady Spark, and Hannah spend only a day traveling from London to Dorset, but since the book also talks about being able to see the ocean from the windows, I decided to place the house on the Dorset coast between Bournemouth and Swanage. (Hence my fictional name for the town!) 

Going by the normal mail coach speed of 8mph, no more than 8 hours a day, it would probably take about two days to get from London to the Dorset coast; two days from the Dorset coast to Plymouth; and a long day from Portsmouth to the Dorset coast. I suspect a private carriage would have been slower.

 

REFERENCES

Finally, I am immensely indebted to this website for all my postal information! Any errors are my own: [Frajola.com](http://www.rfrajola.com)


End file.
